Words Unsaid
by xoblackstairsxo
Summary: Emma Carstairs wasn't the type to brood over her emotions; she was a spitfire who did whatever she pleased without truly considering the consequences beforehand. But as far as her feelings with her own parabatai go, she simply can't seem to do what her thoughts compel her to. Songfic inspired by Skylar Gray's Words.


**Words Unsaid**

A songfic based off of Skylar Gray's _Words_

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_It's so loud inside my head._

Emma was never one to brood about her actions, or anything really. She was a seventeen year old spitfire, a girl both condemned and applauded—depending on the situation—by her ability to simply switch off her mind in an instant, a quality that aided her in a battle, but hindered her with tedious things like understanding her emotions, especially her emotions involving _him_.

He invaded Emma's mind uninvited, a lurking parasite in a mind that was used to only thinking of weaponry and techniques to better her training. He planted unadulterated thoughts of a feeling that she was so inexperienced with, a love that was definitely something deeper than the tolerated Agape.

She had to stop thinking this way. Emma could never love Julian Blackthorn—the boy with the intoxicating blue-green eyes, olive skin, and a paintbrush; the boy who always had different colored streaks of paint from his latest projects in his unkempt, brown hair. Most importantly, he was her best friend, her partner, her _parabatai, _and because of it, her feelings would never be tolerated in the eyes of the Clave.

Eros between them was strictly forbidden. It simply wasn't allowed, but her thoughts were so alluring—_rules were made to be broken_—and her instinct compelled her to just show him how she f—no, she couldn't think like this… she couldn't drag Jules into her world of illegal feelings, or at least, not this emotion. Love between them wasn't tolerated, and there were sagas of medieval legend to back up the forsaken law, and Emma kept screaming this to herself until she was beginning to believe it.

But unfortunately, this did not stop scandalous thinking. This practice would never stop Emma's nagging impulse to snuggle against him as they slept or to kiss him passionately when she would pin him against the floor in hand to hand combat training or to just outline the muscles in his arms when they were near each other. Emma was inexplicably addicted to Julian Blackthorn, and despite the tactics, she could not turn off her thoughts.

_With words that I should've said_

Her name was Cristina Rosales, aka. Emma's best friend in the entire Los Angeles Institute, next to Jules, of course. Those two were opposites in every single way—from their appearance to the way that they dealt with their daily problems—only united by their age, diligent training, and demon hunting in general. Cristina acted as an unlikely temperament to Emma's utter spontaneity, with her shy deposition and coy intelligence. Cristina was any man's dream, so she shouldn't have been shocked really.

"Emma, do you mind if I talk to you for a second." Julian said after their training, sounding oddly nervous, "how do you feel about Cristina." It seemed like a random question to Emma, and of course, Emma didn't have anything truly bad to say about her friend. "How would you feel if she and I, if we went on a date?" Oh, he wanted her approval. It all made sense now. Emma still didn't have anything bad to say about her friend, but she was also fiercely—and selfishly—opposed to the idea of the two of them dating. But she couldn't say anything. She obviously couldn't tell him about her emotions, and she couldn't tie him down with the weight of them either. She couldn't let him live a guilt-ridden life over feelings that Jules was simply incapable of returning back to her. Like any good _parabatai_ would, she nodded and cracked a seemingly supportive smile even though the idea of her two best friends dating was an intensely uncomfortable—intensely painful—thought for her, despite the fact the two of them had hit it off quite well on their first date together, despite the fact that the two of them were happy together.

_And as I drown in my regrets_

Objectively speaking, Cristina was a beautiful woman, and Shadowhunter black suited her just fine, but she looked absolutely, uncontainably radiant in gold. She looked so pretty in that moment that Emma was practically shaking in envy at the sight of her. Cristina seemed to have everything that Emma didn't: hair and makeup applied to perfection, a bulky Blackthorn ring on her finger, and facial features dancing with happiness. In a few hours, Cristina would have Emma's secret desire, and there was absolutely nothing that she could do about it.

Weddings are joyous times for Shadowhunters. They signify union and possible progeny, and almost all of them were gathered today to celebrate the lovely ceremony between Julian Blackthorn and Cristina Rosales. But if that is so, then why can't Emma Carstairs stand in that reception hall with a genuine smile on her face? Why was there a voice screaming in her skull to leave?

Emma simply couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't stay in the Accords hall with all of those Shadowhunters and play pretend for one more night. It was impossible for her to be the happy friend or the supportive _parabatai_ that Jules and Tina needed. She simply couldn't be that today, not even for the most important people in her life, or she would hit someone across the head with a broomstick out of pent up anger. No, she couldn't stay; she had to get out of that building as soon as possible before she ruined the newlyweds' night.

When there was no one in the hall paying attention to her, Emma ran. She wasn't exactly sure where she was going, but it was away, where her thoughts could overtake her. Where the 'what-if' questions and hypothetical questions became tangible in her imagination. _What if I told him how I felt? What if I just confess right now? What if he felt the same way? What if I told him I wasn't okay with their relationship? What if I told him that I wanted to be his Cristina? What if—_It was ridiculous to Emma that she was even thinking this way—that she was so jealous—but she physically couldn't help it; she could never stop the thoughts. They were always on rewind, and before she knew it, she was crying. _Crying_. Something she hadn't done since she found out her parents were dead. Crying. Crying always of her regrets like rivers.

_I can't take back the words I never said_

"Emma, what's wrong," Julian asks, concerned. That particular night, he decided that he could not feign sleep, and his restlessness led him to roam the empty hallways of the LA Institute when he heard acute screaming. Emma Carstairs, his _parabatai,_ had rolled off her bed and was screaming bloody murder. Quite frankly, the scenario sounded like it could have been ironic plot twist that Ty would think up in his spare time for the Blackthorns to laugh at, and it would've been funny really, had it not been apparent that Emma was certainly not okay. Despite her weak nod of assurance, Julian knew that Emma was hiding something—her features were struck with apprehension, as if she wasn't telling him something—and it made him uneasy.

He approaches her writhing on the floor, as if cautious, and wordlessly spreads his arms next to her. Emma responds, collapses into his arms helplessly, so uncharacteristically Emma, and muffles her screams into his chest. "Emma, you're okay. I'm here." She still can't seem to stop her shrieking, but Emma was noticeably calming down, hugging him as if his embrace could take away her demons. And he wraps his arms snugly around her back as if his warmth is succeeding in doing so.

Together, Julian and Emma just lay into each other on the cold floor. Time was irrelevant to him in that moment; all that mattered was that his _parabatai_ was content, that she was happy. But after some time, he found himself unsettled; since his wedding, Julian's found himself to be very dismissive on the subtleties that make up Emma Carstairs; his inattentiveness made it so he didn't notice something that was secretly tearing his _parabatai_ apart. "You know that you can tell me anything, right Emma? Can you talk to me about it?"

She traces letters into his arm, a secret language of sorts that they've had since they were little kids.  
'S-O-M-E T-H-I-N-G-S A-R-E B-E-T-T-E-R U-N-S-A-I-D' and she falls soundlessly asleep, upright in his hug, as if it was the most natural and normal place for a twenty-five year old woman to sleep.

Julian finds himself stuck, frozen in this position with Emma, and he closes his eyes himself, as if willing fatigue to take over, but he can't seem to sleep. Instead, he lay away against the cold floor, listening to the gentle thrum of his _parabatai_'s heartbeat, and thinking of all of the things he would do to show her that he would always be there for her, despite Emma's recent secrecy.

He traces the word, the word that defined their relationship and would continue to define it until one of them dropped dead, against her back. 'F-O-R-E-V-E-R,' he wrote, with the intention of proving to his _parabatai_ that he actually meant it.

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**So ever since I read City of Heavenly Fire, I've basically been obsessed with the tragic ship that is and will be Blackstairs (plus I love Skylar Gray so) which then inspired me to write this songfic. Yay. Ah well, review please. I would appreciate feedback. Hope you enjoyed.**


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